


sesame oil, dish soap, and chocolate

by Yersina



Series: different sides of the moon [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Cuddling, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Vampire!Jisung, Vampires, Werewolves, werewolf!minho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23428282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yersina/pseuds/Yersina
Summary: Minho has always leaned heavily on his sense of smell. He presses his nose to his cats’ paws to inhale the gentle scent of hardwood floors and musty carpet. He loves the smell of Febreze because it reminds him of weekends back at home, when his mom would bustle around the house during her weekly cleaning. And no matter what Jisung says, there’s something magical about the crisp air that tickles his nose on the night of a full moon.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Series: different sides of the moon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693879
Comments: 6
Kudos: 135





	sesame oil, dish soap, and chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> sina stop writing fics in one go at midnight challenge: failed

Minho has always leaned heavily on his sense of smell. He presses his nose to his cats’ paws to inhale the gentle scent of hardwood floors and musty carpet. He loves the smell of Febreze because it reminds him of weekends back at home, when his mom would bustle around the house during her weekly cleaning. And no matter what Jisung says, there’s something magical about the crisp air that tickles his nose on the night of a full moon.

It’s that cleanliness that fills his lungs now, that energy that leaks into his bones and infuses his movements, and the third time he shifts restlessly on his end of the couch, Jisung looks up with an expression halfway between resignation and exasperation.

“You’re doing a great impression of a dog that needs to be let out to pee,” Jisung comments. His expression doesn’t change but Minho just knows that he’s dying to roll his eyes.

“Ha ha,” Minho deadpans drily. “I see what you did there. A dog, real funny.”

“Thank you, I’m a comical genius, I know.” Jisung mimes taking a bow and Minho takes that moment of weakness to toss a throw pillow at him, cackling at Jisung’s indignant squawk. 

”Treat your elders with some respect!”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “I recall a certain someone stressing to me an hour ago that he could have dessert before dinner because he’s still a child at heart.”

Jisung reaches over and takes Minho’s hand solemnly. “Lee Minho, I promise you, after a hundred some odd years of living, you learn that no one cares what order you eat your food in.”

Minho lets go of Jisung’s freezing fingers in favor of tackling him into the couch cushions because after twenty some odd years of living with packmates, you learn that there are some arguments better won through bodily superiority. “I’m sorry, what did you say? ‘Lee Minho is right and I’m acting like a child’?” he asks while smothering Jisung with his chest. “Gosh, Jisung, I can’t believe it’s taken you so long to realize that.”

“Mrrrrrrf,” Jisung mumbles into Minho’s shirt, fingers curling into the space right below Minho’s ribs, just enough to make him squirm. The slight reminder of Jisung’s hands sends a shiver down his spine. Jisung could lift him effortlessly right now, could easily crush Minho’s rib cage with his bare hands before Minho could even register the threat, but instead he ghosts his fingers down Minho’s side just to feel him go breathless with tiny giggles.

The realization catches in his throat like it always does, makes him feel small and valued and precious, and he relaxes into Jisung’s touch so he can shift down just a little and hide his face in Jisung’s neck. Jisung senses the change in his mood and quietly adjusts his hold, one hand snaking around Minho’s waist and the other creeping up to the nape of Minho’s neck in a loose embrace.

“You alright?” he asks softly, like he doesn’t expect an answer, and Minho hopes that the feeling of the helpless grin that spreads across his face is enough of one.

He tucks his nose against Jisung’s neck, right below his ear, and the irony of the position doesn’t escape him. Like this, the scent of Jisung envelops Minho, like a warm blanket on a winter day. Jisung doesn’t smell like anything in particular—like the detergent they use for laundry, maybe, or the new shampoo that Jisung had insisted on trying out because it had a picture of duck on the front. He smells a little like the sesame oil that they used to fry the ingredients for the bibimbap they had for dinner, a little like the dish soap that Minho had flicked at Jisung while they were doing the dishes and then had openly laughed at him when Jisung went down flailing in surprise. He smells faintly like the blanket that they keep on the couch for when Jisung falls asleep while working on his music into the morning, so he can bundle himself tightly in a cocoon before the sunlight reaches the couch. Jisung even smells like the chemical tinge of the cheap chocolate ice cream that he rebelliously took a bite out of before dinner, which he had insisted on buying because it “added to the experience of humanity.” 

Jisung smells like _home,_ in the same way that his cats smell like _family_ and Febreeze smells like weekends. 

“I love the way you smell,” he mutters into Jisung’s skin and delights at the confused huff of laughter that ruffles his hair.

“Is that more or less creepy than me telling you that you taste good?” Jisung chuckles, running his fingers through the short hairs at the back of Minho’s head. “Is this a subtle way of telling me to shower? Changbin didn’t mention anything the last time he came over.” 

Minho mulls this information over for less than a second before rearing back. “Changbin was over two days ago.” Jisung stares up at him with wide, beguiling eyes and Minho lasts an entire ten seconds before caving. “You’re disgusting,” he declares fondly and collapses back onto Jisung’s chest.

“And _you_ don’t get to complain about smell if you have a super-sniffer,” Jisung says, poking a finger repeatedly at Minho’s head. “I’d probably have to shower twice a day to keep you happy.”

“Twice a day isn’t ridiculous,” Minho retorts without any heat, because he really does love the way Jisung smells, and if he started showering more, that menagerie of scents would start to fade. There is no _Jisung_ smell in the same way that Felix will fervently swear up and down that Minho has a _Minho_ smell that somehow defies explanation. Jisung smells different from month to month when they switch up their laundry detergent or toothpaste brand, or even day to day or hour to hour when Jisung goes out or cooks food or showers. Jisung smells like their lives, like the little pieces of their day collected here and there, like snapshots of living stamped into a photo book embedded in Jisung’s skin, and there’s nothing else that Minho would rather smell. 

“You only say that because you shower twice a day all the time, you—you athlete,” Jisung protests weakly. “If I shower twice a day, I’m going to dissolve into dust and then you’re going to have to deal with mopping up my body mud that’s clogging up your drains.”

“I do hate cleaning the bathroom,” Minho agrees, because if there was one thing that the stories had to get right, it’s that everything smells like wet dog. “You’re off the hook. For now. Please take a shower though.”

“Just for you, babe.” Jisung pulls back unattractively, his chin nearly touching his chest, just so he can wink at Minho. Minho wonders why he loves this dork. 

He shoves Jisung’s face away unceremoniously and sits up, plopping his weight right onto the squishy part of Jisung’s thighs. This new position gives him a vantage point to look out the window at the darkness that has fallen. “Oh hey, look, the sun went down.” Jisung cranes his head back over the arm of the couch so he can look out the living room window upside down. 

Minho’s eyes are drawn magnetically to the full moon on the edge of the horizon, feeling the bright light itching in his bones like a dozen angry bees humming violently. They haven’t had such a clear night on a full moon since the start of spring and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from checking the forecast earlier that day, so he knows exactly how pleasant the cool air would feel on his fur—

“Minho?”

Minho drags his eyes reluctantly back to Jisung, who has settled back into the couch cushions and is gazing up at him expectantly. “Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you want to go outside. Together,” he tacks on hastily.

Minho bites back the automatic enthusiastic ‘yes!’ and instead forces himself to ask, “Are you sure? You’ve got a deadline coming up, right?”

Jisung gives him a knowing look and it kindles the anticipation fluttering in Minho’s stomach. “It’s a clear spring night on a full moon—fuck deadlines. Who knows if we’ll get another chance like this this year?”

And it‘s such a small thing but Minho wants to shout for joy because _this_ is one of the best parts of being with Jisung: not having to sneak out at night or risk feeling like his bones are wrong for his body, being able to show himself wholeheartedly, knowing that he can be apart from his family and still have a packmate to keep up with him all night. Jisung is so fundamentally different from him but he’s never felt more understood.

Minho grins down at Jisung in answer and can’t help swooping in to steal a kiss before jumping off the couch, energy bursting out his pores now that he knows he gets to enjoy this full moon with his favorite person. “No leash today, too much energy,” he manages before he starts stripping.

“Whoa, calm down,” Jisung laughs. Minho thinks he might’ve tossed a sock in his direction, but by the time he turns around, tail wagging and tongue lolling out with excitement, his clothes have already been tossed haphazardly in a somewhat neat pile onto the couch. “Someone’s excited.”

Minho chuffs an agreement and trots over to the door, just barely stopping himself from pawing at it impatiently. His throat itches with the need to howl, to find others and share this happiness with them, but when he looks back at Jisung, who has an enigmatic smile tugging at the edge of his lips, almost shy, he settles a bit and wags his tail encouragingly. It’s not their first full moon together but it’s been a long time— _too long,_ a voice inside him insists—since the previous one, and he doesn’t want Jisung to feel wrong-footed. _Come on,_ he tries to convey with his eyes, but he doesn’t push, because he knows sometimes Jisung needs the extra time. 

“You’re such a pretty wolf, you know,” Jisung finally says, grabbing his keys from the bowl on the counter and slipping on his shoes. Minho does his best imitation of a wolfy grin at the compliment, and the affectionate hand Jisung pats on his head as he unlocks the door tells him he succeeded. 

As he waits for Jisung to make sure all the lights are off and lock the door before they leave, he can’t help but think that the lock on the door means nothing to him, because it’s not the space on the other side that’s home to him, it’s the person next to him that grins at him with a gummy smile and crescent eyes and a smell like sesame oil, dish soap, and chocolate. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://littlenookofnonsense.tumblr.com/) | [twt](https://twitter.com/yersin_a) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/yersin_a)


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